Movie review: Stones bassist Wyman still evasive in new documentary

Al Alexander More Content Now

Wednesday

Jun 19, 2019 at 2:28 PMJun 19, 2019 at 2:28 PM

For most, The Rolling Stones are about Mick and Keith. But I’ve always been more intrigued by the group’s tight, underrated rhythm section of drummer Charlie Watts and bassist Bill Wyman, the “stone-faced” Stones who happily faded to the background anonymously making time keeping time as the lifeblood of “the world’s greatest rock ’n’ roll band.” Don’t know about you, but I’m convinced the Stones haven’t been the Stones since Wyman walked away from his mates in 1993 to - as former Supreme Mary Wilson says - not just “smell the roses, but to name them.”

While watching “The Quiet One,” Oliver Murray’s dive into Wyman’s climb from an impoverished, war-torn youth to a well-funded blissful retirement, you get the feeling he has seen it all from the perspective of both a participant and an observer. And he has the photos and home movies to prove it - an entire room full. You wind up convinced he’s the Stones’ most ardent fan, having archived so much memorabilia he’s run out of space to store it all. You name it, it’s there: demo tapes, posters, badges, costumes, albums and cameras all neatly stowed away on shelves that climb from floor to ceiling.

We’re made privy to much of it, as Wyman sits at his computer at the end of the room reminiscing with his back to the camera, much the same way he saw Mick and Keith over his 31 years as a Rolling Stone. It’s interesting from an aesthetic vantage, but what’s the point? I’m not sure even Murray knows. I suspect it’s merely a device to break up the succession of photos and clips accompanying Wyman’s voice-overs, as he takes a chronological trip through the years, beginning with the London Blitz and continuing through his present incarnation as a devoted husband, father and lover of American blues.

It’s strangely unemotional, including his recollections of the summer and fall of 1969, when his Stones running mate, Brian Jones, drowned and four of the group’s fans were killed at their infamous concert at Altamont Speedway in Northern California. “I really don’t like talking about it,” he says.

The only time we get close to a waver in his voice is when talk turns to his meetings with his two “heroes,” Ray Charles and Howlin’ Wolf, both of whom invited him into a world of rhythm and blues that was largely a domain in which whites were persona non grata. For Wyman, they not only offered friendship, but validation of his place in their world.

Still, it would have been nice if Murray had encouraged Wyman to dig deeper into his emotions, especially when it comes to Jones’ mysterious death and Wyman’s bizarre dalliance with Mandy Smith, the second of three Mrs. Wymans, who he started dating when he was 47 and she was all of 13. But both are barely touched upon. Same with his feelings toward Keith Richards’ well-chronicled drug habits, which you’d assume would be appalling to a teetotaler like Wyman.

But, then if he did push the issues, Murray might well have been denied access to all the never-before-seen videos and photos Wyman took of his mates casually being themselves between recording sessions and tour stops. It’s all great stuff, especially if you’re a Stones fan. Yet, you’re left wanting. Part of it is because Wyman, like his stoic stage presence, isn’t nearly as colorful as his flamboyant bandmates. True to his blue-collar roots, he was there to do a job, not to be flashy. He’s immensely proud of that, too. And you respect him for it. Dullness was his virtue. Besides, he was happy to make his unmistakably thundering bass lines do all the talking. Just imagine songs like “Brown Sugar” and “Paint It Black” without him.

You admire him even more for the man he’s become, a happy octogenarian grateful that he jumped off the rock merry-go-round at precisely the right time so he could finally enjoy a life away from recording and touring. Today, playing is just a hobby, one he indulges through his blues band, appropriately called The Rhythm Kings. Yes, he’s now old and gray, but deep inside he’s joyously in the pink, finally having found his satisfaction.